


Error

by Witete



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Drinking, Gen, Mild Language, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Slurs, Stan O' War II, Verbal Abuse, also feat. rude bargoers who just need to leave, the r word is used here be careful my loves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-19 22:30:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10649382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witete/pseuds/Witete
Summary: Old insecurities rear their ugly heads.





	Error

**Author's Note:**

> Request for WhisperoftheDay!!!  
> Based on images by typona on tumblr!  
> Hope you enjoy!

“Here; how ‘bout this place?”

Stan’s voice reached his brother’s ears, coupled with a gentle, but halting grab at the elbow, stopping his twin’s pace forward. Ford quickly finished reading an article displayed on his small, handheld device before glancing back at Stanley. Stan’s gaze wasn’t on his brother; instead, it was trained on the space in front of him. Ford was quick to follow his line of sight.

Light danced at the corners of his glasses as bright neon signs blinked in front of him, a generic, but somehow welcoming “open” sign that hung from the door being the most discernable on the establishment. The building looked old; small and laden with crumbling bricks, for aesthetic purposes, Ford assumed. Hoped. A pair of large windows cleaved the front of the establishment, the muggy glass absorbing more light than it was reflecting. Even past the foggy windows, the building seemed dark, as if it was closed –even though the sign on the front said otherwise. Ford cast an unsure glance at Stan, brows furrowing.

“This place?” he repeated incredulously, receiving a playfully exasperated look from his brother.

“There ain’t gonna be much else besides this, Sixer,” Stan said, releasing Ford and walking up to the window, cupping the glass around his eyes. “Ooh, it’s a bar too!”

“Figures,” Ford smirked from behind him, stepping backwards slightly to avoid an undoubtedly inebriated couple walking past, leaning into each other and speaking in slurred French.

“See?” Stan laughed as the pair passed, his breath frosting the glass in front of him. “Doesn’t that look like loads of fun?”  
“Not for the person who has to practically carry your sorry ass home,” Ford said, raising his eyebrows at his brother.

“Hey,” Stan snapped, pointing at Ford. “You’ve had your fair share of nights too, nerd.”

Ford’s façade cracked at that and he rolled his eyes, grinning.

“Fine, fine, we’ll go; but-“Ford raised his voice as Stan reached for the door, looking back at his brother like he had been caught stealing something. Ford had seen the man steal enough times to know that the two expressions were almost indistinguishable. It almost made Ford laugh, but he managed to steel himself.

“Just one drink each, you got it?”

“Three.”

“Two. Take it or leave it.”

Stan grinned and opened the door, a little bell chiming their arrival. Stan mock bowed as Ford passed the threshold, getting shoved in the shoulder by the latter, scoffing at his antics.

The door shut behind the pair and as Stan talked to the waitress about a table, Ford glanced around the establishment. It was a lot more alive and friendly-looking than he had previously assumed. The building stretched back further than Ford could see from the front, leaving room for quite few tables and a rather impressive bar. There were slim televisions hoisted in various corners of the room with people watching a hockey game -which was displayed on many of them- excitedly speaking in both English and French tongues. He even spotted a few families strewn about the place. It was certainly a lot homier than he had thought. It made a happy kind of warmth settle into his chest. It made the cold that brushed his body seem so much further away.

They had sailed through the Bay of Fundy just a few hours earlier, docking on the west coast of Nova Scotia. By the time they had gathered all their bags and went to their hotel room, the sun was already starting to set, the air getting chillier by the second and the sky getting more and more colourful. Stan had vehemently pressured Ford to go out with him to get a bite to eat and maybe stock up on supplies while they recuperated from being out at sea for about two weeks. If Ford was being honest with himself, he could go for some fresh food without having to check the labels on cans to make sure it hadn’t gone bad.

He probably should’ve expected that a drink would’ve been on Stan’s mind as well. They hadn’t brought much alcohol on the boat, only one bottle of bourbon and a half-drained, left over bottle of whiskey from the shack that Stan knew Soos wouldn’t drink. The reason for that lack of liquor, Ford supposed, was because of him. He’d been doing better, but they both knew how dangerous it could get if he was left alone with nothing but nasty, intrusive thoughts and the key to the cabinet. Stan had experienced it once in the shack, a few nights after he had gotten Ford back and he didn’t want a repeat of that.

But Ford was doing better. He really was, especially when he had Stan to regulate him, just in case. It wasn’t like Stan was immaculate when it came to alcohol either, but at this point, they cared for each other more than they cared for themselves; they evened each other out. It helped.

The pair followed the waitress to a small round table, two barstools on either side of it. They each took a seat and the waitress handed each of them a menu before heading towards the kitchen.

Ford began to peruse the menu for a few seconds before he noticed that Stan wasn’t doing the same. He was straightening his trench coat, of all things.

Ford pursed his lips and glanced at the kitchen, back at his brother, kitchen and back again before lowering the menu and sighing.

“Don’t tell me.”

“What should I say?”

Ford scoffed and eyed his brother. “You’re asking me?”

Stan barked a laugh. “No, that would be the last thing I’d do.”

“Glad to see your priorities are straight, then.”

“Hey, you may be laughing now, but just wait ‘till it goes down! I’m irresistible; she’ll be charmed.” Stan grinned, puffing his chest out.

Ford scoffed. “Oh, I’m sure,” he said sarcastically, tersely. “Because women are always drawn to a man who’s been out at sea for almost three weeks and who looks and smells as such.”

“You ain’t doin’ much better, you hypocrite!”

“I’m not the one trying to entice her.”

Stan sighed dramatically. “You’re just out to get me, aren’t you?”

Ford chuckled. “I’m your brother; what do you expect?”

“Tell you what.” Stan looked at the menu, his eyes wandering for a moment before he hits it with the back of his hand. “Let’s each get a Cape Crusader and let’s see how it goes.”

Ford peered at Stan for a second before shaking his head and smiling. “I cannot _wait_ to see you fuck this up.”

“I’m an even smoother talker when I’ve got alcohol in me, if you can believe it,” Stan smirked before turning and searching for their waitress.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Ford laughed.

 

Turns out, not only can Stan _talk_ when inebriated- which Ford already knew; the man was a chatterbox sober- but he can talk himself into some pretty impressive holes.

Ford was laughing. He could barely take a sip of his second drink at this point. It wasn’t even that he was drunk- he could barely feel anything- but that overwhelming feeling of “I told you so” had settled deep inside him, making giggles rise to his chest.

Stan was red in the face and that wasn’t just the liquor talking. Two empty glasses sat by his arm and another full glass rested by his hand, a drink Ford doesn’t recall Stan ordering. Ford vaguely remembers saying only two drinks per, but at this point, he’s too amused to care.

Even though his face was redder than a tomato, Stan couldn’t stop his own laughter at his own flub. He kept telling Ford to stop laughing, but every time a moment of silence passed, they both just broke down again.

Neither of them really wanted to stop.

They hadn’t laughed like that in a long, long time.

“Heh, ah-what did I tell you- heh?” Ford said, trying to piece together a sentence in the middle of his laughing.

“Your very presence fucked me up!” Stan accused loudly, the phrase falling apart at the end with a chuckle. “Plus, that wasn’t _my_ fault!”

“Oh, really?” Ford snorted incredulously. “You’re probably not the first person to go after her, do you really think she’d fall for that?”

“They’re _supposed_ to be bad, that’s the point! They’re amusing!” Stan countered.

“But it’s when they’re witty and they fire back at you is when it becomes even more so.” Ford sipped his drink.

“For who?!”

“For me.”

“ _God_ ,” Stan groaned, covering his face with his hands. His shoulders still shook with laughter. “Glad someone’s having fun.”

_“Hey!”_

The pair flinched at the sharp tone of voice that emanated to Ford’s left. Smiles still dancing on their faces, they turned to the person trying to get their attention, albeit very rudely.

It was a trio of men; bigger guys sitting on the booth next to them. Their round faces were sour and they’re entire demeanor was generally unpleasant. Both twins sensed this and sobered up a little, at least to the point where their smiles weren’t so large.

“You want somethin’?” Stan asked, nodding his head towards them, kindly allowing Ford to look on.

“Yeah; we want you two to shut up. You’re causing a racket,” one of the men growled, his words carrying a slight French accent.

“Says the man who’s been screaming at the hockey game the whole time. Yeah, don’t think we didn’t hear you,” Stan returned sharply.

“Stan,” Ford hissed, side glancing the trio who now looked even more irate.

“What?” Stan grumbled, slumping back into his chair and turning to Ford. “Just callin’ em as I sees em.”

“God, okay.” Ford pinched his nose, shifting his glasses up a fraction of an inch. He then turned to the men, gesturing outwards with a six-fingered hand. He ignored the way his heart began to pound with anxiety. If they wanted to avoid trouble with these strangers, somebody had to placate them. It certainly wasn’t going to be Stanley.

“I apologize for my brother, as well as myself; we’ll quiet down.”

There. Simple. Easy.

He turned back towards Stan before he could see their reactions. He assumed that it worked out fine, because they didn’t say anything for a few long seconds.

But nothing ever came easy for the Pines twins. After 60 plus years of living, they should’ve realized that by now. Sometimes they did realize their shitty luck, but sometimes it bit back in the most brutal and unsuspecting ways.

Things were silent for a few moments, Ford releasing a heavy, but relieving sigh, offering a small smile to Stan- but he wasn’t looking directly at him. He was staring at his drink, his brows furrowed in concentration. He was chewing on his lip and he was rubbing his hands together tightly on the table in front of him.

“Stan?” Ford questioned gently, the smile still on his lips. “You’re not mad I ruined your thunder, are you?”

Stan looked up from his drink. The joyous light from his eyes was gone, replaced with a hint of misery and anger. The sudden change in demeanor threw Ford through a loop.

The smile dropped from his face. “Stan, what’s wrong?”

“They’re talking about you,” Stan said lowly, keeping his shoulders hunched and his eyes still.

Before Ford could comment, Stan jerked his head subtly to the left, back towards the table with the three men. Ford refused to look over, afraid he may make eye contact. As the moment dragged on, the bar seemed to get quieter and quieter until everyone could hear Ford’s pounding heart.

It felt like the whole bar was looking at him. Staring at him. Laughing. Mocking. He could feel their gazes at the back of his head, the side- all around him. He heard the ghosts of whispers inside his ears. He could feel their judging eyes and pitying shaking heads.

Eyes. He could feel their eyes. Unblinking. Watching.

_Freak._

“You gestured to them,” Stan said, the voice only barely piercing the veil of darkness that was starting to seep into Ford’s head. “They caught your hands.”

Ford nodded numbly, trying to listen to the sounds around him that _had_ to be there. Sound never vanished; it was always there. Unless in a vacuum, sound always existed. So why could he only hear the pounding of his own heart and a voice that sounded like Stan, but didn’t feel like reality?

It felt like he was being peeled away from his body. He wasn’t in control. He heard the laughter, the pitch rising and rising and rising. His right eye tingled.

_Freak._

_You’d fit right in. It’s not too late to join me!_

 Ford barely registered moving his hands into his lap.

“Don’t hide them, coward!” someone jeered, the sound sharp within the vacuum Ford had found himself in.

“Don’t listen to them,” Stan growled, tapping Ford’s shin with his foot. The sensation was jarring and Ford held onto those few moments, concentrating on the slight tingle of pain instead of the men to the left of him that were mocking him.

“Oh, come now, don’t be shy!”

“Ha, I bet the ladies _love_ them, don’t they?”

“What? Can’t talk now?”

“Looks like you broke him, Viktor! He probably can’t even hear you.”

“Can you do both of us a favour and fuck off, huh?” Stan snapped, his head whipping towards the men, his grasp hard on his glass. “The lot’a ya look like warthogs, but you don’t hear us mocking you for it, do you?”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, geezer,” one of them sneered. Ford noticed him move out of the corner of his eye and he cringed before realizing he was simply shifting in his seat. “We’re just havin’ a bit of fun.”

Before Stan could say anything, the man shifted closer still-close enough to where Ford could almost feel his breath. “Not our fault your brother is as retarded as they come.”

Stan slammed the table with his fist and stood up from his seat, the stool falling to the floor with a loud clatter. _That’s_ when the bar went quiet, curious heads turning towards Ford’s fuming brother. Ford reached to grab Stan’s sleeve, but the man moved it out of Ford’s reach, pointing a finger at the man.

“Stan,” Ford said softly, his own voice numb to his ears.

“If you say another word, I’ll punch you straight in the-“

“Stan,” Ford said more firmly, reaching out and grabbing his arm. The touch was meant to be reassuring, but even Ford noticed the almost desperate way he touched his brother’s arm. Stan glanced at Ford, his eyes alight with anger and his teeth gritted in a snarl.

“-that’s enough; just let him be.” Ford pulled on the sleeve again, though it was subtle enough not to be seen by all the wandering gazes.

All the eyes.

The judgement, the stares-

Ford shuddered visibly, gaining a small scoff from the trio. Stan tugged towards them in response, but Ford’s grasp held him at bay. “Let’s just pay and go, okay? We’ll eat at the hotel.”

For a few long seconds, it seemed as if Stan hadn’t heard Ford speak at all. He continued to stare at the men, his entire body stiff with anger and hurt.

Ford was just about to repeat himself before Stan threw Ford’s hand off his arm with one violent motion and turned on his heel, his back now facing the red-faced men. He grimaced as he fished through his wallet, sparing a glance at a bartender who inquired about the argument.

Everything else was a blur to Ford. Stan paid and everybody tentatively went back to their meals. Stan stomped through the door into the cold, followed by Ford who had his head low and his posture curled.

Ford barely felt the cold past his own lost, muted headspace. He trudged along behind Stan, staring at the way his twin’s shadow moved back and forth through the streetlights.

Every now and then, Stan would look back, just to make sure Ford was following him, but he didn’t try to speak to him. Instead, Stan just talked into the air, grumbling and biting curses at nobody. His fist even flinched a few times as if he wanted to strike the air in front of him.

Ford wasn’t bothered by Stan’s negligence towards him. That was how Stan dealt with emotional turmoil at first and Ford knew and respected that. Ford would even hesitate to call it negligence; it was- respect.

It wasn’t like Ford was up for talking quite yet, either. There was no anger, no annoyance, no hate, either; it was just a numbing, empty, gaping nothingness inside his chest. He could feel his brain trying to wrap around what just happened, the words and the gestures not quite sinking in yet. There was nothing to convey to Stan quite yet- it was all just…nothingness.

It felt like Ford blinked and they were walking through the double doors to the hotel. Their shoes squeaked against the marble flooring as they trudged to the elevator, Stan giving a simple nod to the receptionist. Ford kept his head low and his gaze on Stan’s heels. He saw her eyes follow him for a moment, but he couldn’t be bothered to linger on the feeling.

The elevator ride was silent, but not awkward. It was a wordless, mutual agreement.

Ford was thankful.

They entered their shared room and Stan instantly veered off into the bathroom, shutting the door as gently as he could. Not much later, Ford heard water run through the pipes and into the shower.

Mindlessly, Ford shucked off his boots and took off his blue jacket and sweater, leaving on just a white tank and his jeans. He sat on his bed and looked at his left forearm.

He didn’t care much anymore if Stan saw his scars- he didn’t feel as much shame for them now as he did before; he still refused to let anybody else see, especially the kids, but Stan had his fair share of scars as well. It helped them grow closer in the early days of their reconciliation.

He wasn’t sure why he stripped the sweater in the first place, but as time went on and his right hand drifted closer to his left forearm, he realized –dully, at the back of his head- it was subconscious playing the game now. His fingertips brushed the litany of scars on his arms; some of them bites or bullet wounds; some old tattoos and sigils.

Sometimes, the light touch would ground him. Sometimes, the light touch would quiet the intrusive thoughts that drilled inside his head.

Sometimes.

Not all the time.

Not today.

The gentle touch turned into pinching which turned into painful scratching. It wasn’t working. Nothing was registering. The occurrence kept playing over and over and over and over.

The scratches dug harder and harder and harder an-

He couldn’t feel his forearm beneath his fingers anymore. He distantly felt the scratches, but it wasn’t enough- he couldn’t get back.

He could still hear the laughter and the jeering. The word, that one word, replaying again and again. Everything hurt, but it was remote. Muddled; why couldn’t he _feel_ it? Why did emptiness hurt so bad?

Suddenly, he felt something on the back of his neck. He tensed for a moment, but the touch wasn’t painful or malicious. It was rough and jarring, but warm.

The touch rubbed slightly against the tattoo on the side of his neck. The silly image flashed in his mind for a second and a young girl’s laughter followed it.

_Mabel’s laugh. She saw the tattoo. She thought it was cute._

Something fluttered in his chest.

The touch on his neck morphed into a hand and the force resisting his own hand shifted into a grasp as well.

“-kay, bud. You’re okay. S’not your fault. You’re okay.”

Ford heard Stan’s voice pierce his thoughts, a much clearer rendition of it than how it was at the bar.

After a few moments, Ford opened his tightly shut eyes (he hadn’t even realized they had been closed in the first place) and was met with his almost identical reflection. His reflection- _Stanley, it was his brother, this was real, he was okay_ \- gave him a small, but grateful smile. Ford returned it as best he could and was amazed that it didn’t morph into a grimace.

“You okay?” Stan asked gently after a moment, his eyes wandering to the red scratches on his brother’s forearm.

Ford followed his gaze and sighed, gently pulling his hand from Stan’s to rub the stinging sensation away from his arm. He let out a short, sharp laugh at the sudden change in desire, but he nodded his head, heaving a sigh.

“Yeah; yes, I’m fine.”

Stan peered at him for a moment, a little concerned by the laugh, but he knew that Ford wasn’t lying. Ford was a shitty liar.

And that’s all Stan needed to remember.

With a grunt, Stan stood up from his crouch on the floor and sat down on the bed next to Ford. The elder twin scooted over for him as they settled, not talking for a few moments.

Ford turned and glanced at Stan. “Are you okay?”

Stan nodded slowly, droplets of water dripping from his hair onto his lap.

After a few moments passed, Stan looked at Ford. “I’m sorry that happened.”

“It’s okay,” Ford said automatically. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Thanks for stopping me.”

“No problem.”

More silence.

Ford could tell Stan wanted to say something with the way he shifted his hands and chewed his lip. Ford knew that Stan saw him peering at him expectantly, so he gave a heavy sigh and shut his eyes.

“That…that word they called you,” Stan began softly, choosing his words as gently as if he were walking on half inch ice. Ford felt himself twitch at the memory, but he drove his hurt back.

“You’re- you aren’t that, okay?” Stan said quickly, looking at Ford to gauge him. When Ford looked down and folded his hands in his lap, that was a tentative sign for Stan to keep talking.

“You’re one of the smartest people I know- hell, probably _the_ smartest person. Those people back there don’t have a clue what the fuck they’re talking about. They’re stupid and you shouldn’t take the dumb shit they say seriously.”

When Ford didn’t look up, Stan rustled his shoulder with an elbow.

“You trust me, right?”

Ford looked at Stan and gave him a confused glare. “Or course I do.”

“How much?” Stan pushed.

“With everything,” Ford said quickly.

“Then do you trust that I’m right?”

Ford took a few moments to mull the statement over in his head before giving Stan a small smile.

“In this instance, sure. The rest is debatable.”

“Good enough for me,” Stan sighed, smiling back.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Requests are still closed for now, but potential prompts for fics in the future are welcome.  
> Comments are appreciated!  
> \-----  
> Jxk: Al vlr tloh xq qeb Yxhbov, zxrpb vlr exsb x kfzb pbq lc yrkp.  
> Tljxk: Al vlr tloh xq x Dolzbov pqlob? Qebk tev xob vlr zebzhfkd jb lrq?


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